


Irrepressible

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha is an eccentric writer; Jensen and Jared are his room-mates.  One of whom might just have a teeny tiny crush...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irrepressible

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "silence" square of my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Beta'd by [](http://icelily01.livejournal.com/profile)[icelily01](http://icelily01.livejournal.com/).

 

Misha Collins is pretty much irrepressible. Kinda makes it hard not to want to, well, repress him, at least temporarily, Jared thinks, watching the guy bounce around, playing invisible, inaudible Dance Dance Revolution in the living room. He’s not the entirety of the audience, either; although Jensen _appears_ to be busy working on what is supposed to be the final draft of his doctoral thesis, Jared’s pretty sure he’s taking a good long look now and then. Quite how he’s dealt with living in Misha’s house for four years or whatever is beyond Jared; he’s only been here a matter of weeks, since it became clear that dorm life really wasn’t for him, and the ever-present ball of frenetic, seriously fucking sexy, high-energy chaos that is Misha Collins is already driving him mad. With lust, mainly. Jared rubs at his neck, takes a deep breath, and tries to focus on his Logic and Reasoning textbook once more.

He’s two paragraphs in when Misha dives onto the couch beside him.

“So how was your day?” Misha says. “Mine was excellent. Wrote four pages. Fourteen pages. Four and a fourth pages. Something with four. Wrote lots, anyway. Pity it’s all shite. Charming word, ‘shite’. British. I thought I’d cook dinner tonight. Something delicious. Something with garlic. I wonder why vampires don’t like garlic?” He peers closely at Jared as if he might be willfully withholding the answer to this all-important mystery.

“Uh,” Jared says. “Maybe with all their enhanced senses for hunting down prey, it’s just really, really stinky to them?”

“Lots of things are stinky,” Misha says, but he’s stroking at his perpetually stubbled chin and appears to be giving the possibility some thought. “You could tell me, if you were a vampire. You could tell me all about that, for my novel. One of my novels. I’m sure I was going to put vampires in one of them. Gay vampires, of course.”

“Of course,” Jared agrees sweetly.

Misha hugs him, a sort of ninja hug that is over almost before he’s realised it’s happening. “So how was your day?”

“Lectures. Labs. Library. Lunch. The usual.”

“Learn anything _scandalous_?”

Jared thinks about this. “Not really. Though apparently the poem we have to read for American lit class next week has bad language in it. The ‘c’ word, I gathered.”

Misha puts his hand over his mouth in an overblown expression of horror. “What is this piece of depravity?”

“Ginsberg. Howl.”

“ ‘I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked,’” Misha quotes at once. “ ‘Angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night… who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull…’”

Jared clears his throat. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He’s only glanced at it, but he’s going to have to start reading it soon. It looks kinda long.

He waits for Misha to drift back into his own head. Takes a while. In the meantime, it’s safe to admire the blueness of his big eyes, focused into the imaginary distance, on the paleness of his face that seldom sees the sun. On the way, the latest in the endless sequence of tight little t-shirts and low-slung jeans show off all the best features of his long, lithe body that seems to Jared at once big and small, strong and delicate, a decade older than him and so, so young. So much energy Misha keeps in there, focused during the day on the stories he’s forever beating out of his typewriter and in the evenings on Jensen and Jared, the guys supposedly staying to help pay the rent but actually here just as much to keep Misha sane and entertained. Because Misha Collins is not a man who should be allowed to kick around alone too much. And yet he’s not a man to go out and make mischief in the world, either. Not without someone to push him, anyway.

“So,” Misha says suddenly, and slaps his thighs, “garlic. Dinner. Come keep me company in the kitchen? Did you grab the mail? You can read me my latest crop of rejection letters. Your dulcet tones will assuage the sting a little.”

Jared shrugs. Why not? His textbook isn’t going anywhere. And maybe Misha can tell him a few things about Ginsberg.

***

_“Dude, you’re hot, queer, single,_ and _from Texas? If only you were my type!”_

_Jared had simultaneously blushed and grinned. “You like ‘em more delicate, huh?”_

_Jensen had smirked but continued calmly prodding and poking and assessing Jared’s injured foot. “Not delicate, exactly, just… manageable. Smaller or submissive or something. Not getting those vibes from you.”_

_Jared’s a little chuffed at that, though for some reason he also kinda wants to point out that he could easily be tied to a bed or something. To make him ‘manageable’. Not that he’s _that_ much bigger than Jensen._

_“Besides, you’re a patient.”_

_“Nah, I’m a volunteer helping out with your training. No money is changing hands, yadda. But if it makes you feel better, you’re actually a little young for me.”_

_Jensen’s eyebrows had shot up at that. “Really,” he’d said, stretching out the word to about a zillion syllables. “In that case, let’s get drinks tonight and disdain to screw each other.”_

_And that had been that. Instant friends for life. And not long after, Jensen had seen his dilemma and invited Jared to come meet his house-mate and see if he couldn’t move in._  
  


***

It’s not until he’s been living there six months that Jared learns that Misha’s actually a published writer with a small raft of novels, short stories, poems, and one stage play under his belt. He’s not just a bum with aspirations and no real chance. He’s actually scraping a living, writing, has been for years. Which means Jensen must have known, the fucker.

It’s pretty much the first time he’s seen Misha clam up, right after he realises that the letter he’s just asked Jared to read to him isn’t a rejection but the cover note for a royalty cheque. _Oops._

“Hey,” Jared murmurs, and can’t resist reaching out to touch Misha’s out-thrust lower lip. “You’re cute when you’re quiet.”

Misha grabs the finger very carefully between his teeth and glares like he’s threatening to bite it off. Jared laughs, stretches out his free arm, pats him on the shoulder.

“Your secret’s safe with me, buddy.”

Misha’s eyes crinkle fondly. Then he pulls off Jared’s finger, sucking hard as he goes so that it slips out of his mouth with an obscene, wet pop. He winks, then scurries away downstairs. A moment later, Jared distinctly hears the door of his dingy basement writing room being shut and locked.

***

_“Misha, this is Jared. Jared, Misha.”_

_He offered his hand, and Misha shook it rapidly. Then began a series of rapid-fire questions. “Do you smoke?”_

_“No.”_

_“Drink?”_

_“Uh, yeah.”_

_“Practice the electric guitar late at night?”_

_“No.”_

_“Drive?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Got a car?”_

_“Truck.”_

_“Like orgies?”_

_“Uh, dunno?”_

_“Eat meat?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Fuck girls?”_

_“Not lately.”_

_“Guys?”_

_“Working on it.”_

_“Do you read?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“He’ll do,” Misha said, over his shoulder, to a Jensen who’d been looking perplexed, as if he hadn’t been able to tell any better than Jared whether or not he was giving the hoped-for answers. He turned those strangely piercing blue eyes back on Jared. “You get a choice of rooms. One has a single bed but you’ll have to move all the junk out. One has a queen, but you’ll have to buy a mattress.” He frowned. “Is a queen big enough?” He looked Jared thoughtfully up and down, as if mentally comparing him with the dimensions of said bed. “I suppose you could lie diagonally, corner to corner?”_

_“Quit it,” Jared said, amused. “I’m not _that_ tall.”_

_“Sweetie,” Misha said, in the voice parents use to talk to toddlers who Just Don’t Get It, “if I have to stretch up to kiss you, you’re pretty fucking tall, okay?”_

_And he demonstrated the stretching. And the kissing._

_Which was right about when Jared’s crush began._  
  


***

It’s a big house, Misha always says. Plenty of room for basketball players and giants. Jared’s never thought of himself as either, in fact he’s typically embarrassed or at least frustrated by references to his height. But not so much with Misha, because he’s pretty sure Misha kinda gets off on their height difference, that it’s a constant source of amusement or pleasure for the guy. So Jared doesn’t mind too much when Misha chatters about it. Or when Misha shows him a story he just got published in a gay skin mag about a giant twink’s first time getting pounded.

“Uh, Misha, is this a come-on?”

Misha blinks at him, all innocence. “Can’t you tell the difference between flirting and polite conversation?” He then proceeds to talk for ten minutes straight about the one hundred and four words that were edited out of his story, and how forty of them being gone actually improved it, but the others subtly altered the effect he’d been going for.

After that, Jared tells him gently that he really needs to go learn what the hell substrate level phosphorylation is now. Misha’s not at all offended, and Jared spots him a few minutes later from his bedroom window, turning cartwheels out in the yard.

***

_“Home?” Misha repeated dolefully, and something in Jared’s chest crumpled painfully._

_“Yeah. Home for Thanksgiving. Kinda traditional.”_

_“But—” Misha had looked helplessly from Jared to Jensen. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders, wiped his face clean of emotion._

_Jared rubbed at the back of his neck. “There’s always room for one more at my folks’, if you’re up for it. You’d have to make an effort to be sociable, of course.”_

_“Of course,” Misha said, nodding rapidly. “I can be sociable. I can be super-sociable. I can be the life of the party, any party, you’ll see!”_

_“I think Jared would rather you just tried to be Misha,” Jensen put in. “Just be Misha, and don’t hide in corners.”_

_“Oh,” Misha said. “I can do _that_. No sweat.”_

_“And, uh,” Jared said, and had to stop to clear his throat. “I’m not Out to my folks yet. So if you could keep from talking about my hook-ups or, you know, randomly making out with me at the dinner table, that would be awesome.”_

_Misha saluted crisply, and wasn’t able to stop grinning for several hours._

_Texas would never know what hit it._  
  


***

It’s when Jensen, having barely gotten his gown off after graduation, lands a job at a prestigious local sports medicine clinic that Jared finally loses patience with Misha’s irrepressible good mood. Well, not so much the good mood as the absolute flood of words that inevitably comes with it. Misha can’t just be happy for someone and show it with a few words of congratulations, a handshake, and maybe some smiling. He has to detail, at length, and without ever repeating himself, just how wonderful the news is and how impressed he is and how he predicts Jensen will quickly become rich and renowned and famous and get to put his hands on all manner of sexy famous sporting personalities in a professional capacity and and and—

Jensen’s blush has deepened to the point where Jared thinks he might faint clear away just to escape all the fuss.

Time to take matters into his own hands, then.

“Misha,” Jared says, rising up off the couch and feeling Misha’s gaze track his progress, “come and talk to me upstairs a minute, would you?”

His heart is pounding a little fast even before Misha agrees and gets up too. He's never done this, never dared, never even really thought about it because he doesn’t want things to get messy, doesn’t want to have to move out. He has things good here. But Misha is _so_ adorably sexy and he’s just Jared’s type and Jensen really could use the reprieve… and it’s a challenge, shutting Misha up. Jared likes challenges. They bring out the best in him, usually at the expense of his sweet side.

“I should strip off this wallpaper and put up something brighter,” Misha observes, as they’re climbing the stairs. “I mean, I like dreary, in its place, but is its place the staircase to our heavenly slumberland? What do you think about lime green? Heliotrope? Red? Something sparkly? Or how about—”

“Misha,” Jared cuts in when they reach the landing, “shut up.” He says it kindly, and Misha merely looks confused. So Jared slides his fingers down behind the front waistband of Misha’s jeans so he can get a grip on the denim, tugs him up the last step and onto the landing until he can push him against the wall and pin him there with his body. He withdraws his hand from Misha’s pants, strokes at his spiky yet product-free hair instead while he gathers his thoughts. Misha purrs and leans into the touch.

“Okay, Misha. This is how I want this to go: you don't say a word unless you’re not liking something. Say stop if you want me to stop. Otherwise, talk with your hands, and your pretty face, and your—” He’s leaning down for a kiss before he even realises it.

Misha moans in a way that is _definitely_ not ‘stop’, and kisses him back hungrily. Seconds later, Jared’s ass is grabbed, and he grinds against Misha in surprise. Which also does not merit a ‘stop’, apparently. It merits a weird, fluttery tongue thing and a pleased little groan. Jared slips his hands up under Misha’s t-shirt, splays them out around his sides, below his ribs. He’s imagined that so often, gripping that neat little waist while Misha rides his lap. Dragging just his fingertips over all that skin his big hands now cover, discovering whether Misha’s as ticklish as he imagines. Holding him here while he fucks into him, hard, doggy-style. Or maybe Misha tops? Jared’s been fucked, like, twice, and he wasn’t too impressed with the experience, but… he shivers, thinking of Misha’s dick pushing into him, stretching him wide… Yeah, he could get into that.

Misha hums delightedly as Jared draws back.

“Shush,” Jared reminds him, and gets an enthusiastic nod for a response. “I want you naked under me,” he murmurs.

Misha places a hand on Jared’s chest and pushes until he steps back. Then he takes Jared’s hand and actually _skips_ down the hall. So they wind up in Misha’s room, which Jared has only ever glimpsed before when they both happen to be coming and going from their rooms at the same time. It’s big and surprisingly spartan, for a guy who has so much clutter elsewhere in the house. His writing room, for instance, is a nightmare of hip-high stacks of manuscripts and overflowing bookcases, not to mention his collection of broken antique typewriters and the pink piano he sometimes sits on when he’s thinking.

When he’s finished looking around and remembered to shut the door, Jared turns to find Misha standing in the centre of the bed, arms outspread as if to say _come and get me_. Jared resists the urge to tackle him to the mattress. Just. He joins him instead, carefully checking that he’s not going to hit his head on the frickin’ ceiling. But these old ceilings are pretty high, and the bed’s not, so it all works out, and they kiss just that little bit closer to heaven than before. And then Misha’s tugging at his jeans, and Jared smiles into the kiss at the continuing silence. He reaches down, pops open his fly, deals almost as easily to Misha’s. He’s suddenly absurdly grateful for Misha’s Everyone Goes Barefoot in the House policy, because it means they can just shove pants and underwear down and kick out of them.

He jerks in surprised pleasure when Misha’s hand closes around his dick, warm and firm and just… assessing. When he looks up, Misha’s smirking, eyes alight with mischief, and Jared can almost hear the comment he’d make about ‘big all over’ or ‘big feet, big dick’ or something if he wasn’t being so very good and quiet.

“You’re not exactly small,” he tells Misha, glancing down. “Anywhere.”

Misha beams, then lowers his head to nip at Jared’s shoulder through his shirt. Which had better come off. Like, now.

Misha seems to enjoy the view as Jared strips off his t-shirt. Good. Hands come out to touch, to trace the pectorals Jared’s been working so hard to define this year, and that’s good, that’s lovely. But he only pauses to enjoy for a few moments before going on with his mission to get Misha naked.

Misha Collins is breathtaking. Jared’s been with guys who have more muscle tone, or more model-esque proportions. But he can’t recall ever looking at someone’s bare torso and feeling quite this degree of _yeah, thank God, fuck, perfect_. He kisses Misha hard and desperate until they both start to wobble alarmingly from standing on an uneven surface with their eyes closed.

“Lie down,” he tells Misha, who immediately bounces down onto his ass on the bed, then leans back and drops his head to the pillow.

Jared’s more dignified getting down there, but not a hell of a lot slower. Misha feels good under him, right, his dick hard and hips already rolling up, searching for friction. Jared lines up their cocks and sets up a slow, dry frot, just enough to tide him over while he really fucking gets to know Misha’s pretty mouth. Misha mumbles something that might be “mm, so good”, and Jared has to pause to scold him. Misha covers his mouth with one hand in an exaggerated gesture of remorse.

“You’re so damn sexy,” Jared murmurs. He means to tease, to tempt Misha into breaking his already-shaky silence, but it feels good to say it out loud, to have it finally out there and heard. He runs a hand down Misha’s side, over his ribs and waist and jutting hip bone, pushes it under to get a handful of extremely fine ass. “I’ve wanted you forever.”

Misha moans at that, and then buries his face in Jared’s neck as though to keep any further sounds in. He’s rock hard against Jared’s dick, and presently his hands slip rather tentatively down until he’s running his fingertips over Jared’s buttocks, almost as if confirming they’re real.

“The first guy who topped me? I made him do me from behind so I could imagine he was you.”

Misha whimpers, nips at the side of Jared’s neck. It’s a nice response, motivates him to continue.

“The second guy did me face to face, and I didn’t enjoy that so much. Pretty much decided I should top, after that. Want so bad to fuck you, Misha.” He rolls them, keen to feel the lovely weight of that body stretched out over him. “But I’m kinda hoping you’ll do me, too. Show me what all the fuss is about.”

Misha’s breath hisses through his teeth, and he looks down at Jared, blue eyes wide with amazement.

“You like that idea, huh?”

Misha tries to nod and grin simultaneously, appears to think better of it, and scrambles off Jared to crawl for the nightstand on the far side of the bed instead. He returns with a condom and a small bottle of lube, held in his teeth like he’s a dog fetching a stick, and Jared laughs delightedly.

“Good answer.”

He’s not sure whose ass is up to get pounded here. Not until Misha squidges in between his legs, forms himself into a rather yoga-esque sitting position, and yanks at one of Jared’s legs until he finally understands that he’s to put his foot on Misha’s shoulder. Then there are cold, lube-slick fingers teasing at his hole and, yeah, that kinda settles it. His dick leaps in approval, and Misha beams like the sun from on high. That smile gets wickeder and wickeder as Misha slowly, methodically, works him open.

And then his free hand closes on Jared’s cock for a lazy rub, and it all starts to get _really_ good. Misha turns his head, kisses Jared’s shin, and just keeps on fucking him on his fingers like he has all the time in the fucking world. Like there’s literally nothing else he would rather be doing.

Jared doesn’t beg, but it’s a close thing, what with all the whimpering and moaning.

And then Misha casually tears open the condom packet with his teeth, removes his fingers from Jared’s ass and wipes them on something, then slicks on the condom and moves to lie on him.

“Huh,” Jared says. “Pretty vanilla position. I’d have expected, I dunno, something fancy with a name in Sanskrit.”

He can actually see the words forming in Misha’s mouth, but the guy keeps them in with a valiant effort. Instead, he guides his dick to Jared’s hole and starts serenely pushing in.

Jared goes with it, spreads and lifts his legs so he can wrap them around Misha’s hips, opening himself to the invasion. It’s easier than the last time, like he’s more relaxed or something, and it’s starting to feel good even before Misha’s finished his first, shallow thrust.

It’s slow and languid and new. Every rock of Misha’s hips draws a gasp from Jared’s lips, a matching upward curl of his pelvis in counterpoint.

“So good,” he moans, head flopping helplessly back and forth on the pillow. The sweat’s started prickling at his hairline, and he wants to cry or laugh aloud with how fucking perfect this all feels.

Misha opens his mouth, shuts it again with a snap. He’s virtually vibrating with the need to talk, and, yeah, that’s really looking like becoming Jared’s new favourite thing. He reaches down between them so he can get a hold on his cock, and Misha helpfully shifts his weight to make that easier, and then, oh, God, he’s not going to last, this stamina thing totally still eludes him, and it’s good, it’s so good…

“Misha,” he moans, half-strangled, looking up in the weird almost-panic of near orgasm, looking up into those blue, blue eyes.

Misha smiles.

Jared loses it. Thoroughly. There’s a shriek and everything. But he’s not embarrassed. Not when he manages to get his eyes to focus again and sees how much Misha’s enjoying this. Enjoying him. And then Misha pulls out, which is briefly confusing. But then he pulls off the condom, wraps his fist around his cock, jerks once, twice, three times, and comes all over Jared’s stomach, anointing him with pleasure, mixing their spilled semen.

It’s weird how not-gross it is when Misha swipes a finger through the mess and offers it to Jared to taste. Jared laps it up, watches as Misha collects another dollop to sample himself.

“Man, you are so fucking hot.”

Misha beams. “Can I talk now?”

Jared’s not sure where the laughter comes from, but it’s rich and warm and it feels damn good. “Yeah,” he says. “What do you want to say?”

Misha shrugs. Then he’s moving to grab tissues from the box on the nightstand, cleaning Jared up.

After that, they just kinda cuddle and don’t talk.

***

“ _So,” Jensen said, helping himself to the foot end of Jared’s bed and curling his arms around his knees, “you like it here?”_

_Jared propped himself up on his elbows. “I think so, yeah. Misha’s… interesting.”_

_Jensen laughed, scratched idly at one side of his head. “You could say that, certainly. But you’ll get used to it, and then you’ll wonder how you ever did without him.”_

_Jared wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he believed that._  
  


***

Misha is pretty much irrepressible. But now, it often happens that in the middle of a long and rapturous discourse on the legalities of Patagonian toothfish fishing in the Southern ocean, or the quintessential arrogance of the theatre of the absurd, or the most sinfully delicious items on the menu at Chipotle, Misha will pause briefly and catch Jared’s eye. Sometimes he’ll wink, sometimes it’s just _there_ in his eyes, a message, a challenge. Then he’ll talk on, daring Jared to interrupt, to make some excuse to get them alone so he can command Misha to silence before having his way with him. And Jared always, always surrenders to that particular urge. Even though he knows he’s only encouraging Misha’s habit of talking everyone’s ear off about things they don’t really care about. And Jensen, if he’s there, will give them this look, and fold his arms across his chest, and just fucking _smirk_ like he wants to say something about You Crazy Kids… (Yeah, so Jensen is definitely the grown-up around here. Though don’t let him hear you say so, or he’ll insist on besting you in a burping competition or something to prove it isn’t so.)

They haven’t really talked about it, any of it. Not directly. But Misha did go off on a big lecture the other day at dinner about how awesome it must be to have a great big tall boyfriend with huge muscles who can manhandle you in the bedroom, and that didn’t exactly leave Jared (or an embarrassed-looking Jensen) in any doubt that Misha wanted them to be An Item. And Jared is so totally cool with that it isn’t funny.

***END***


End file.
